The Attic
.
.
Timeless classics on a shelf
Layers of dust with too much time to settle
Concealing the titles
On ragged covers, ancient bindings
Pages fading to a stale yellow
Have not been read forever
Faded letters which, in many instances
Are no longer legible
By man, woman, or child
.
A single window with glass glazed over
Is located high on the wall
Minimal sunlight permeates the dust
Which like a thick fog
Hangs about the room
Cobwebs in every corner of every shelf
Long since deserted by their creators
.
Upon the antique floor
Its boards warped and twisted with age
There is not a print of visitors come and gone
Yet, somewhere on a shelf mid-high
there exists a title with an image as crisp as if it was placed there
yesterday.